


It Started With a Sweater

by Rinn the Small Boy (MasterKathy)



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, High School AU, M/M, high school universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-23
Updated: 2013-11-23
Packaged: 2018-01-02 09:41:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1055275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MasterKathy/pseuds/Rinn%20the%20Small%20Boy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They are just a group of friends, who eat lunch together in the back room in the library - a group of friends who love and laugh and, just maybe, more?</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Started With a Sweater

**Author's Note:**

> A thing I wrote for the prompt blog and just HAD to post. Enjoy.

**September**

The schedule was disgusting. Grantaire had no idea how he was going to survive his senior year, let alone graduate. The only saving grace was Art 4, seventh period; what a great way to finish off the day. He folded the paper haphazardly and stuffed it into his pocket.  
To his left, Courfeyrac was chatting with Jehan about the Literary Shakespeare class they shared second period. The poet was twirling long strawberry blonde hair between his fingers, cheeks blushed. He was flirting without even realizing that he was doing so, and Courfeyrac was eating it up. Grantaire rolled his eyes and flipped open his sketchbook to a fresh page.

“R!” Bahorel called out, weaving in and out of the crowd to catch up to his friend. “Hey, did you still want to eat lunch in the library?”  
Grantaire closed his locker door, beaten up Harry Potter lunch box in hand. “Duh. Every day since the start of freshman year, Bahorel.” They started down the corridor together, the taller, bulkier man talking about his classes so far. Grantaire listened intently, something he was very good at.   
There was a special back room in the library where the group of friends ate and chattered during their forty-five minute lunch break.  
In the corner were Courfeyrac and Jehan, seated on matching beanie bag chairs and reading from a thick books of poems. Feuilly, with a mop of ginger hair, was seated at their feet, creating intricate tissue paper fans and handing them out to his friends.  
At the table against the wall were Bossuet and Joly and Musichetta. They were often listed together, due to their interesting and confusing romantic relationship. Bossuet and Musichetta, a football player and a cheerleader, respectively, had taken an interest in Joly their sophomore year. Poor Joly had been so overwhelmed by the two of them, until one day he had kissed him, and then her. They had been inseparable ever since.   
And then there was Enjolras, and his best friend, Combeferre. Enjolras was Grantaire’s Apollo, his hard-headed, activist Apollo.  
Occasionally, Marius and his best friend, Eponine, would join them, but they normally ate in the band room before practice.   
“Hello, R!” Jehan called out happily. “Come over here and let me sit on your lap!” This was a common occurrence, with the small boy constantly cold and always seeking warmth in a room. He stood so Grantaire could plop down, and positioned himself properly.   
No one noticed, but a flash of jealousy shining in those golden eyes of Enjolras’s showed his true feelings. His heart ached, wished for him to walk over and kiss that warm mouth, stroke the stubble that looked so very soft. But him and Grantaire? That would never work, no matter how much he wished for it.

A few weeks into the semester, and Enjolras was already stressed. He was hunched over his desk, dim light on, eyes squinting as he read through Descartes’s “Meditations.” A warm mug of tea, nearly untouched, was set beside his notebook.  
The mug was special, because it had been a Christmas gift from Grantaire the year before. “A pottery project,” Grantaire had said. “I hope you like it.” And Enjolras did, so very much.  
His phone buzzed, and he finished the sentence before picking it up. 

FROM: Ferre  
Open your window.

Not even questioning the request, Enjolras shuffled over to slide it open. Combeferre crawled in, shutting the window and kicking off his slippers. The backpack got set by Enjolras’s in the corner.   
“C’mon, Jolras – time for bed.” Combeferre turned off the desk light and took his friend’s hands in his own. “You need your rest. No excuses.”   
Enjolras knew better than to argue. He let his best friend tuck him in, let the taller boy be the big spoon. It was warm and soft beneath the blankets, and it takes a while for him to finally drift off, but he wakes up feeling safe. 

**October**

It was around lunchtime that their special room began to get chilly. Despite the fact that Jehan had turned up the heat, it was still colder than usual. Enjolras shivered harshly as he flipped through the textbook. Next thing he knew, a thick, cable-knit sweater was being tugged down over his curls. He slid his arms in gratefully, and there was Grantaire, smiling down at him.   
“You need to keep warm, Apollo,” he said before walking over to Jehan and Courfeyrac. The sweater was emerald green, and absolutely reeked of Old Spice. Enjolras curled up a bit and picked back up his book.

Courfeyrac exhaled sharply before walking up to Jehan’s locker. “Hey,” he said.   
Jehan smiled, pale cheeks flushed. “Courf, hey. Uhm, what’s up?”  
“Did you have anything going on today?” The taller boy’s voice was shaky, and he was wringing his hands nervously. Jehan shook his head. “Do you maybe wanna go get ice cream with me then? As… as more than friends?”  
It was then that the poet finally realized what Courfeyrac was asking, and his eyes opened wide. “Courf, I would love to get ice cream with you.” He took Courfeyrac’s hand, and squeezed gently.   
They smiled at each other then. 

Combeferre loved to watch people, and record his findings in the spare notebook he carried everywhere. At that moment, he was watching as his friends planned the annual Halloween party. It had been tradition for as long as he could remember, gathering in the backyard of Grantaire’s house, bobbing for apples and reminiscing. When it got too cold outside, they would huddle together in the living room, drinking hot chocolate and snuggling.  
Enjolras had been very happy the last few weeks, and that made him happy. Grantaire ended up giving him the emerald sweater, and he wore it every other day. Grantaire looked smug and pleased; Combeferre knew that he and Enjolras felt the same deep love for one another. They were both too afraid to admit such a thing.  
“What should we go as this year, Bahorel?” Feuilly was using his gentle tone, his fingers stroking through Eponine’s silky brown hair. She was upset – Marius was spending all his time with Cosette, his new flute-playing girlfriend. She had been left to the wayside, and chose to regularly eat lunch with the group.   
“I still vote Ash and Pikachu.”  
Feuilly nodded, happy. “I’ll have to buy some fabric. Could you contribute?”  
“Of course, Feu.”   
Combeferre turned his attention to the triplets. Joly was taking turns kissing Bossuet and Musichetta, soft mewls pouring from his mouth into theirs. Combeferre loved their relationship: he loved that the paranoid Joly finally felt safe with his lovers, wrapped in their warm embrace and never letting go.  
The bell rang. The notebook was tucked away in his bag, and he walked to Enjolras’s side so they could start towards class.

Courfeyrac was always the one who helped Grantaire set up for the party. That year it was the Friday before Halloween, due to the actual holiday falling on a ghastly Wednesday. The two worked together in near silence.  
“So,” Courfeyrac started, “You and Enjolras…?”  
Grantaire shot him a glare that could cut diamonds. “We are just friends, Courf. And that is all we will ever be.”  
“But you could be more…”  
“No. Drop it, Courf.”  
Grantaire stormed inside and up to his bedroom, where he proceeded to kick his door as hard as he could. Why couldn’t his friends just get it through their thick heads that Enjolras wanted nothing to do with him in that way? Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, and he rubbed them away hurriedly. He took a few deep breaths before venturing back downstairs.  
Courfeyrac hugged him: he smelled of Irish Spring and chocolate. “I’m sorry for pushing this. I just want you to be happy, you know.”  
“I know, Courf. I know. Now finish putting up the streamers, and stop being a dork.”

The backyard was lit up with orange and white twinkle lights. There were pumpkin decorated cupcakes, bowls full of candy, orange and black streamers hung from tall trees, along with paper ghosts on strings. And the friends were gathered on blankets in the grass, dressed warmly and sipping cups of hot chocolate and hot apple cider.  
Enjolras had on Grantaire’s sweater, along with a pair of well-worn red skinny jeans and his black high-tops. Grantaire was watching him sip at the mug of apple cider in his hands. The sleeves of the sweater were too long on his arms, and the cuffs covered his small hands.   
He shook his head and grabbed a cupcake before crashing down beside Bahorel. “So, mon ami, what are we talking about?”  
“Ugh, the Nightmare on Elm Street movies.”  
Enjolras, being very sneaky, crawled over to sit beside Grantaire. “Hey,” he said softly. His glasses were slipping to the tip of his nose, and Grantaire pushed them up gently with his pointer finger. “Thank you.”  
“No problem, Apollo. How are you? Combeferre looks kinda lonely over there…”  
Enjolras looked back at his best friend, who was smiling encouragingly. “He’s fine, I promise. I wanted to talk to you, though. And thank you again, for the sweater. It might be my favorite.”   
Grantaire blushed at that. “Well, you certainly do wear it a lot. Not that that’s a problem! It looks fantastic on you!”  
“There’s just one problem, though…” Enjolras scooted closer, and Grantaire’s mouth went dry. Those golden eyes were darker than usual. “I’ve had to wash it, of course. It doesn’t smell like you anymore.”  
“W-well, we’ll just have to fix that, won’t we?” Grantaire grabbed his hand, and they stood. “Uhm, guys, Enjolras and I will be right back, okay?” He proceeded to drag him inside, past his mother, who was eyeing him with wonder, and up the stairs to his bedroom. Enjolras was flustered, shifting from foot to foot. Grantaire turned to face him. “Apollo… I… I don’t…”  
Enjolras stepped forward, moving one hand slowly up to Grantaire’s cheek. “Taire… I’m going to kiss you now. Okay?”   
And he leaned up as far as he could to press his lips firmly against Grantaire’s. The taller man let out a sigh of pure pleasure, and pressed back, moving his hands to rest against Enjolras’s hips softly. Enjolras ran his fingers up into Grantaire’s curls and parted his lips gently, teeth nipping. They continued on this way for several minutes, pulling away gently again and again to look at one another. The final time, Enjolras licked his swollen lips.   
“I think I fell for you long ago,” he said to Grantaire, looking him straight in the eye. “And I don’t want to be without you anymore.”  
Grantaire nodded slowly. “I have to agree with you there.” He stepped forward to pull off the emerald sweater, and Enjolras looked pained, until Grantaire grabbed the one he had been wearing earlier that day, and tugged it down onto the smaller boy’s body. “There you go. How does that one smell?”  
Enjolras lifted the collar to his nose and smiled. “Very much like the man I adore.” He kissed him once more. “We should probably get back to our friends for now, they’re probably worried, but if you don’t mind, I’d like for us to sit together, and, preferably, hold hands?”  
“I think I could be alright with that.”

Later, when they were curled up together on the couch, all their friends asleep around them, they kissed again, soft and slow. “I’ve waited so long to do that,” Enjolras groaned out. “You are so good. I was worried you might now feel the same way.”  
“I have always felt the same way, Jolras.”   
“Then please, say you’ll let us try this. I want to try being with you so very badly.”   
Grantaire nodded. “Sh, we will try this. I adore you, silly boy. Time to sleep.”

“So I guess you could say you were, haha, Thunderstruck, huh Taire?”  
“Courfeyrac, if you do not shut up within the next three seconds, I will personally punch you in the face.”   
“Fine, fine. But you’re adorable, okay!”

**November**

The first snowfall of the year, Grantaire picked Enjolras up in the morning for school, and he was wearing one of his boyfriend’s sweaters. They held hands in the car, fingers intertwined, talking about the surprise that Courfeyrac had planned for his and Jehan’s anniversary.   
“I cannot believe they’ve been together for two months now.”  
“Me neither. But they’re both so happy.”  
When Enjolras kissed him, Grantaire could taste the Burt’s Beeswax on his lips, and he grinned. It was good, their relationship so far. They had tiffs, of course, but they were E/G tiffs, and were easily solved with talking it out and kisses. 

When Courfeyrac serenaded Jehan from up on a table during lunch, the poet blushed and threw his hands over his mouth before he could squeal. It was “Your Song” by Elton John, one of Jehan’s favorites, and soon as it was over, he ran over to tackle the boy, kissing him madly. They ended up wandering off to the broom closet for a proper makeout.  
“They’re gross,” Joly said crossly, until Bossuet pulled him in for a hug, and Musichetta pet his hair softly. “Icky.”  
“Oh hush, my darling,” Musichetta said, “We’ve done worse than that in here after school.”  
Feuilly automatically looked over at them, astonished. “Wait… what?”  
Bossuet glared at the girl. “Hush, or you’re going to make Joly feel all embarrassed.”   
Bahorel poked Feuilly’s cheek, turning the attention of the ginger back to him. “Just forget it. You don’t want to know what they get up to.”  
They returned to their food, and Combeferre scrawled away in his journal about how cute Enjolras and Grantaire were, and how he had a date with Eponine later that week (it was a secret – he wanted to ensure they were compatible before they told anyone).   
They were good. Everyone was happy. Could things get any better?


End file.
